


Exhibit

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fight Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:39:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Alright, look. I’m going to do this, just to shut you up so we can be on our way."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exhibit

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Exhibit (又名：75%的时间里，John如何让Sherlock乖乖听话)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/332148) by [kangtacaty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangtacaty/pseuds/kangtacaty), [Miss_Octopus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Octopus/pseuds/Miss_Octopus)



It was Sunday. John didn’t need to get up when the alarm went off, but he’d gotten enough sleep, so he decided to start the day. He rolled over and looked at the lump crowned with dark curls next to him. “Do you want to get in the shower with me?” he said to it.

It turned away from him and snuffled. Unsurprising. John slipped out of bed and grabbed his dressing gown from the hook on the door.

Twenty minutes later, he had the kettle on and was in front of the open breadbox, fishing for the last two slices of bread in the bag. Having dumped them in the toaster, he popped back out to the stairs and called up, “Sherlock, come down and have breakfast with me.”

Sherlock didn’t show, so John ate both pieces of toast and had his tea and read the paper. He glanced at the clock, worked backwards: _If we want to get to the museum by ten, we should leave by a quarter till; he’ll want thirty or forty minutes to get ready, and it will take thirty or forty minutes to get him to start getting ready_...John determined that he had twenty more minutes to relax.

When it was time to get a move on, John climbed the stairs, knocked once on the door, and opened it. “Sherlock, you said you’d--”

John had expected to find the same linen-tangled lump he’d left. Instead, all the sheets and pillows had been knocked off the bed, leaving only Sherlock, naked and spread-eagle, having a luxurious wank. His mouth was open and his head was tilted to one side, exposing his adam’s apple, which bobbed as he gulped and panted. His back was arched and his heels dug into the mattress as he thrust into his own fist. He slid and pushed the heel of his other hand across his belly and hip and against his pubic bone.

“Oh good,” Sherlock said, not really stopping. “You’re here.”

John’s expression could have momentarily been called “agape,” but then quickly morphed into “great, now it’s going to take _another_ forty minutes to get him out of bed.”

Sherlock paused and took his hands off himself, indignant. “Well? What are you waiting for? _Climb on_.”

“You said you’d go with me to the British Museum today to see the Roman art from the Louvre.”

“We’ve got all day to do that. The museum is open until six.”

“Sherlock, you promised.”

“And I’m still promising. You just need to service me and then I will happily accompany you.”

John squeezed his left hand into a fist three or four times, then turned away from Sherlock and went to the chest of drawers to begin dressing.

“Not dealing with you this morning. I’ll just go alone if you want to be this way.”

Sherlock looked on, clearly miffed. “I don’t understand what the problem is. Look at me. I am sex on legs. How can you not see my proposal as a win-win situation?”

Jumper in hand, John turned from the drawer and flung his arms out in a gesture of futility. “It’s not about the sex. It’s about the way you constantly treat me. I do whatever you tell me to do when we’re on a case, gladly, because in those situations I trust that you know what’s best. But when no one’s being hacked up or abducted, it would be nice if you let me have my way, once in a while.”

“I’m asking you to have your way. With me.”

John gritted his teeth, barely able to keep himself from screaming.

“I can’t believe that one person can be so ridiculously awful. Do you know how exhausting it is, to constantly be infuriated with you?”

“Then what’s the story with that?” Sherlock nodded.

John looked where Sherlock was nodding. Oh Jesus, he had just lost the argument.

“Yeah, okay, fine. And do you know want to know _why_ I have an erection?” he said, pointing at it. “It’s because seventy five percent of the time I’m with you, I’m yelling at you, and seventy five percent of the time I’m with you, you’re seducing me!” Sherlock opened his mouth, but John shushed him with an accusing finger. “And yes, that means that fifty percent of the time, both are happening at once! So now, every time you and I argue, my body thinks it’s time to have sex!”

“What a terrible shame,” Sherlock said.

“And the fact that I’m now forced to acknowledge that you’ve succeeded in conditioning my behaviour is making me even more turned on.”

“You’re welcome.”

John dropped the jumper and stalked over to the side of the bed. “Alright, look. I’m going to do this, just to shut you up so we can be on our way. It is not going to be good. It is going to be quick, insanely mediocre sex. You are getting one finger and then my cock and that is it, and then we are _fucking_ going to the _fucking_ museum.”

“Keep talking like that,” Sherlock said. But John didn’t say another word for seven minutes. Instead, he stripped naked, grabbed the lube, and got between Sherlock’s legs on the bed. He shoved his knees under Sherlock’s thighs to get Sherlock in his lap. He slicked one finger and shoved it into Sherlock without grace or care. And yet, Sherlock still moaned like it had been done with the utmost finesse. “Oh yes, just like that,” he sighed happily, even though John could not imagine that anyone would have asked for it just like that.

John made no attempt to find Sherlock’s prostate, just worked the muscle loose. But Sherlock grunted and groaned all the same. John’s ears could easily hear the shamming, but his cock couldn’t tell the difference. His cock was saying, _Maybe it wouldn’t sabotage our protest if we slowed down just a little._

With another two pumps of lube from the bottle, John slicked his throbbing, traitorous cock, further swayed by the evocative low wet sound it made. He tucked himself further up against Sherlock’s arse, then slid his hands over and around Sherlock’s hips and underneath him, and pressed his fingers into the warm, damp creases where buttock met thigh, spreading Sherlock’s cheeks to give his cock a place to nestle. Sherlock was still enough that he could aim his cock without needing a free hand. He nudged and pushed, but...he was not really trying to get inside. It felt kind of nice to just slide it around a little. Maybe he shouldn’t have been letting on that he was enjoying himself, but, well, in for a penny...

Sherlock squirmed. “Quit playing about,” he growled. His body heat made the lube runny, and it dripped down between his buttocks, between John’s knees and onto the sheets.

“I’m not playing about.” Snapped from his reverie, John steadied his cock with one hand, centered himself, and pushed the head inside. He leaned forward so he could hook his hands under and around Sherlock’s shoulders, then thrust the whole length of himself inside. “Does it feel like I’m playing about now?” The reply he got was another grunt, not fake this time.

Having rendered Sherlock temporarily inarticulate, John took the opportunity to further voice his grievances. “‘John, make me tea.’ ‘John, bring me my phone.’ ‘John, fuck me in my arse.’ _You are a bottomless pit of need_. If only I could fuck some sense into you, you lazy sod--”

Sherlock became lucid again instantly. “Tell me how you’d do that,” he said.

This new demand, stoically delivered, gave John pause. He sat up and continued working himself in and out of Sherlock at an easy pace, closing his eyes while he mused, “I’d start by fucking your mouth until I’d permanently wiped that smug expression from your face. It would have the added advantage of keeping you from complaining for a good ten minutes. Hmm, maybe I’d take my time, now that I think of it. I could make it twenty minutes. Then...”

With his eyes closed and the sheets rustling, John did not notice Sherlock picking up his mobile, did not hear the soft clicking of the texting keyboard. It was only when Sherlock sighed that John broke from his fantasy and looked down on him as he was hitting the _Send_ button and tossing the phone aside.

“What are you on about?” he said, his irritation renewed at the sight of Sherlock’s special effort to frown and look petulant. “Who did you just--”

And then, John’s mobile started to vibrate its way across the bedside table. He leaned over, planted one hand on the mattress to brace himself, and snatched the phone up with the other. The message read:

 **Fuck me harder, if convenient. SH**

John put the phone back and said mildly, “You obviously would like to be beaten senseless, I can’t think of any other reason why you’re behaving this way even now you got what you want.”

“That might be slightly less dull.” Sherlock stretched his limbs and relaxed. He was dead weight around John, who now had to do all the gripping, bracing, and balancing himself.

“Sherlock, you are the laziest fuck I’ve ever had.”

“I’m the best fuck you’ve ever had,” Sherlock sneered.

“You could help just a bit, you know.”

“I might be convinced to do maybe one thing. Name it.”

John said, “Talk dirty to me.”

Sherlock seemed to perk up a bit, which only made John suspicious. “Oh yes, you like it when I do that. How dirty, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“On a scale of one to ten, ten being something that would make Caligula blush.”

“Erm...how about six?”

Sherlock dove in, starting with some murmurs. “Fuck me harder, John. Fuck me. I want to be sore with it. I want to feel every inch you gave me, all day. Tomorrow morning I’ll get in the shower and have a wank over how much I still ache.”

John smirked. Not enough. “Okay. Nine.”

“Spread my legs,” Sherlock ordered. John complied, hitching each leg up and hooking elbow under knee to open them. Sherlock growled, “Now, look at yourself fucking me. You didn’t do a very good job of preparing me. I’ll bet you can see already how raw you’re making me.”

“I-- I’m sorry,” John gasped reflexively.

“And when you’re done, when you’ve stuffed me with your prick and filled me full of spunk, I want you to watch yourself pull out of me, and see your come dribbling out of me. I won’t be able to hold it all in. You’ll have to clean me afterward and be very gentle. How gentle will you be with me? Will you clean me with your tongue?”

John didn’t ask for “ten.” The word had two consonants, which was two more than John was capable of producing at the moment. He fixed Sherlock with a piercing gaze of such total angry lust that it surprised Sherlock and pushed him to orgasm.

When John heard his own name the way Sherlock was shouting it, the slow coiling in his balls and at the base of his spine tightened suddenly and he followed Sherlock right over the edge. “You bastard,” he screamed as he pounded Sherlock uncontrollably, “you fucking bastard, I hate you! _Ungh_ , oh...I hate you...oh...oh Christ...”

John fell forward panting, his forehead slamming Sherlock’s breastbone, his hands still clutching those slender hips. Sherlock regarded him fondly. “Do you really hate me?” he asked.

With a wince, John let his softening cock slip out, and crawled up to wrap his arms desperately around Sherlock’s neck and head. “I hate you so much, Sherlock.” He rubbed his sweaty forehead into Sherlock’s dark curls and moaned. “I’ll hate you forever.”

 

*****

 

That afternoon, Sherlock was the picture of well-behaved contentment. He didn’t natter on about how boring museums were. He was polite to everyone they met. He didn’t twirl around pointing out inaccuracies in the exhibits. He didn’t hover over John just because he got bored and was ready to leave. And afterward, he ordered a meal at the restaurant John chose without complaint.

In the cab on the way home, John said, “We should go home and make love properly. We should make right what happened this morning.”

Sherlock took John’s hand and nuzzled his temple. He said, “Of course. Whatever you want.”


End file.
